The Vessel
by EntreNous
Summary: I often wonder what Tyler's followers were really seeing...and what lenghts they took to twist his words into what they wanted to believe. This is the "Psycho-Boy Jack" scene, retold from Angel Face's point of view. (R--for violence and language)


"I'm breaking my attachment to physical power and possessions, because only through destroying myself can I discover the greater power of my spirit." --Tyler Durden  
  
***  
  
He picked me. 

Tonight, Mr. Durden picked _me. _

I'd never fought him before, but it's nothing short of an honor to be picked to fight Tyler, himself. I've watched him dozens of times though, blending in with the crowd, cheering, waving my arms just like the others, packed into the sweltering basement like sardines with the pungent smells of sweat and blood reeking all around me. It's remarkable to watch him fight--like a complicated, choreographed dance, he slides over the floor with uncalculated grace, coiling and striking out like an asp when you least expect it. But only sometimes. Other times he fights like a complete lunatic, pin-wheeling his limbs and fists in wild frenzy with no calculation, no method, as if he's just randomly trying to make contact with a jaw or vital point to bring his opponent down. He doesn't always win, but he's impossible to predict. Fighting Mr. Durden is a lesson unto itself. He's a genius. I wish I could be as smart as him.

You're not allowed to go easy on him in a fight, though. Never. He says he doesn't want to be distinguished from one fighter or the next--that that would go against everything Fight Club stands for.

...but I'm not really supposed to talk about that.

Even so, I could feel the smile on my mouth stretch a mile wide when my name was called.

My bare feet slapped against the cold, hard floor as I elbowed my way through the crowd and out into the open ring through what seemed like a thousand hands slapping me on the back and shoulders as they wished me luck. Tyler eyed me up and down for a moment, sizing me up as he sort of casually thumbed his nose in a subtle taunt--an invitation to begin. At once, our fists were raised, and we began to circle one another like wild animals prior to an attack. Right off, I shot out and felt my fist sink into his stomach, but it wasn't a hard punch. Anyone here could have taken it, even the newbies. Mr. Durden even grinned as if to say I could've done better. I threw a few more punches in the air and laughed nervously out of sheer excitement; this is always when my heart starts to beat like a bass kettle drum inside my chest. Just right before the big hit...

God, how I **love to fight! Love it like I've never loved anything. I always managed to avoid fights when I was growing up, except for the ones with my little sister, but those didn't count. I had always been pretty popular, and everyone liked me. What can I say? If I'd have known fighting was this much fun, though, I'd have tried harder to be a bastard.**

I love to hear the guys' shouts of excitement in my ears. I love feel of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Most of all, I love the way my rival looks at me--sorta like the way Mr. Durden was looking at me now--with narrow, cold eyes, shadowed, and unblinking, as if they were trying to look right through me. People don't usually look at me like that. Typically the looks that come my way are much more...hungry. I see it in their eyes when their pupils dilate, and when I smile at them they can't help but smile back. If I stare back at them long enough, they'll even blush. Even some of the guys, for chrissakes... They all want something. They all want ME. It's the same looks I've been getting since I was old enough to know what the word 'sex' meant. At some point I think that it all used to mean something to me, that I used to care. Feeling wanted like that can be a pretty powerful trip. But not anymore. Not since I've met Mr. Durden. He took me aside and showed me what I _really needed... And damned if he wasn't right. I owe everything to him, to Fight Clu--_

Woops. Not supposed to talk about it.

Something wasn't right with him though. Something hadn't been right since he started Project Mayhem, but today in particular it seemed like he was having a helluva time staying focused. Like his attention kept being interrupted by something. He'd told me earlier it was nothing, but I couldn't help but hear the edge in his voice and watch as his lip contorted into this kind of twitchy curl as he glared at me, then turned and stalked away. That shook me a little, I gotta admit. I'm used to Mr. Durden trusting me, like the other night when we scared the shit out of Commissioner Jacobs at the banquet. I'd been his right-hand man. Tyler even slapped me on the back and told me what a good job I'd done, like I was his kid brother or something. I just don't understand him, sometimes... They say that geniuses are like that though. 

Guess they have a lot going on in their minds.

Still circling... I lunged across the gap between us and gave it my all, throwing a punch with my left fist as I felt it connect with the bridge of his nose. Dazed from the first hit, I took the opportunity to follow up with a right hook to his jaw. Tyler reeled back, and for a moment I thought he'd fall. I think he was actually stunned. And truthfully, so was I... Tyler's usually a whole lot harder to hit than that. Like I said, I've seen him fight dozens of times and he doesn't go down easy. For one concerned moment, I felt my grin fade as he slowly dragged his fingers over his mouth to stare down at the blood on his hand. I almost asked him then if he was all right--in fact, I think I unconsciously took a breath to do so--but suddenly he looked up at me, and I could see the change in his eyes immediately. Just like that, he was focused once again. He was back in the fight and nothing else mattered...not the guys, not Project Mayhem...just him and me...

Cursing myself for letting down my guard, I redoubled my efforts and swung out hard, but Tyler easily evaded, ducking the punch as I followed through on my arc. Then Tyler threw a solid blow that landed right on my left kidney. That hurt--hurt like a knife cutting into my side--and I gasped for air and fell right into his rock-hard fist again, this time against my left jaw. I fumbled, and before I knew it, I'd ended up ass-over-teakettle and kissing the ground.

The world spun like a tilt-a-whirl at a carnival. Everyone was shouting so loud I thought my eardrums would implode. They love to see Mr. Durden win. And he had; I was no longer too proud to accept defeat. A couple of fights will teach you that quicker than any book or lecture. That was one of the points to Fight Club: you are not the best. And if you were, there were plenty of guys here to prove that even the best can be beaten on some nights.

The third rule of Fight Club is when someone yells "Stop", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. I was definitely tapped. But the very next thing I was aware of was a hand dragging me back up by my arm into a sitting position. Blindly, I threw out my arm in defense and tried to yell, "Stop!" but before I can make out the words, I felt Tyler's fist pound into my nose. Maybe he didn't yet realize he'd beaten me.

I knew that Tyler had climbed onto my stomach--I could feel his weight on me. I tried to shake the stars from my vision and clear my thoughts...such as they were. I felt another strike--sharp and heavy like an iron hammer swinging into my face. I grunted, "Tyler..." but I don't think he heard me. He hit me again.

_Stop... _

I tried to form the words with my lips, but I couldn't even feel them moving. For a second I thought of that one comedian who used to do commercials for Jell-O Pudding Pops. He had that routine about going to the dentist and trying to yell, 'Fire' but his lips were so numb he could only manage 'Fiber'. I used to think that was pretty funny. I didn't think so anymore.

_Four...five...six... Gonna be sick... _

I could only manage to croak "Sir..." in a weak plea. I didn't even recognize my own voice, though...how could that be me? It sounded squeaky, like my sister's tricycle that she used to ride around my parent's driveway, the red one with the half-rusted wheels. _Squeeeal. Scraaape. Squeeeeal. Scraaaaaaape_. I hated that noise, it used to drive me nuts and send chills racing up and down my spine. I'd tell her to 'Stop' and she wouldn't listen either. Just like Tyler...

**_CRACK!!! _**

I began to loose count of the hits. All I knew is that they just weren't stopping. My eyes were swelling shut, and my vision was so blurred, I could only make out these strings of thick, viscous liquid flinging everywhere around my face. Tyler's fist dripped with it. It looked like tar, it was so thick. I wondered why Tyler would have tar on his fist, maybe it was a new soap making technique, or something. But that didn't make sense... I'm sure Mr. Durden has his reasons, though. It was amazing the shit that Tyler knew...

**_CRACK!!! _**

I thought for a moment I'd gone deaf too, but I realized I could still hear my own moaning in my ears. Everyone else was completely silent. They weren't cheering anymore.

My features felt fat, like they were twice the size of my face. I thought that I must look pretty funny, kind of like an exaggerated cartoon. I bit down and chewed on a jagged shard of something in my mouth--tasted like blood and felt like I was swallowing glass. A tooth maybe? Mom would be pissed...she paid so much for my braces. But I was too tired to care. I was just so damn tired. If I could just....

Another strike--this time to my jaw... Pain sunk claws in me, into my fading consciousness, and dragged it right back up. He wasn't going to stop. He was going to kill me. I couldn't understand why, Tyler, why? The third rule of Fight Club... Was he mad at me? If only I understood why you were doing this. I wish I was smart like him. So many things he says confuse me....

Then it stopped.

I could hear him panting over me. His breath ragged and uneven. Or was that me? I couldn't see. I felt like my head had been replaced by a huge rock between my shoulders, numb and heavy and motionless. I couldn't feel a thing, except for this little tickling sensation on my earlobe that felt like water dripping on me. _Drip. Drip. Drip._

Tyler got off me and walked away. I wondered if everyone else had left, too. Maybe the house was empty now. ...we _were_ in the house, right? I tried to open my eyes, to see where I was, but I couldn't. Maybe I was asleep. The guys must've been asleep, too, that's why it was quiet. I'd only been dreaming. And, like so many of my dreams, Tyler had been there. He tells me things in my dreams... Things he wants me to understand. I try so hard... Jesus, I wish I was smart like him.

But he hadn't left me yet. Dimly, I heard his voice gliding back to me in the oppressive silence. He was asking me a question. "Where'd _you go, Psycho Boy?" _

Psycho Boy...? He's always calling us these funny names: Space Monkey, Jack, Marla, Single-Serving Friend, Starbuck... I don't know where he comes up with them. In Project Mayhem we have no names, but once in a while he still calls me 'Angel Face.' The guys laugh and tease me about it, but I could give shit. Never liked my real name anyway.

I didn't answer right away. Couldn't... Wanted sleep, to drown in the blackness that was threatening to smother me. But Tyler had asked me a question: Where was I? I didn't know. Didn't understand... I'd been in the house all day, making soap just like he'd showed us how. Was he angry because he thought I'd left? I tried to tell him I hadn't gone anywhere, but my voice just screeched again like a rusty gate, like nails on a chalkboard, like my sister's goddamned tricycle--

"I felt like destroying something beautiful."

He answered for me. Tyler's always answering his own questions before we have a chance. Someone should tell him that's not the way it works. You're supposed to ask first, then let the other person answer. It was really annoying sometimes....

_Destroy something beautiful... _

My subconscious clung furiously to those words. I mulled over it for a moment, trying to think through the pain. My face hurt...God, why did my face hurt? I'd been dreaming of fighting Tyler. He'd picked me. And then I remember he was talking about Beauty...

_You are not a unique and beautiful snowflake... _

Beauty, Beauty...Beauty and the Beast. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Eyes? For some reason, I couldn't see a damn thing... Is Beauty purely a visual thing? What about a 'beautiful moment' or a 'beautiful life'? Those have nothing to do with eyes. What if Beauty IS only an illusion--one that the beholder conjures within their own _mind? Then...that would mean that what I may consider 'beautiful' is merely a perception and an opinion, but may not be so in Reality._

_Forget what you know. Forget about what you _think_ you know... _

As I lay there bleeding, my face fractured in a hundred places, I had what they call a moment of clarity...

Perceptions are flawed. It's like the age-old argument of the half-empty or half-full glass. But the Reality is that neither half-emptiness nor half-fullness would even matter _without_ the stupid glass. The glass is the only true Reality. The contents are nothing but lies and warped conceptions. Once you realize the truth, the argument is irrelevant.

_Destroy something beautiful. _

Now that I thought about it, it made perfect sense. See Beauty for what it is. Focus your perceptions, and only then will you begin to see the real truth: that true Beauty doesn't really exist and you have only been fooling yourself. 

Brilliant, Tyler. Fucking genius that guy is...

All my other thoughts scattered like a flock of birds. I was falling asleep again....I guess soap-making takes more out of you than you would expect. I just hoped Mr. Durden would be proud of me tomorrow. I couldn't wait to talk to him, tell him that I understood what he meant. 

I UNDERSTAND. 

Thank you, Mr. Durden. Thank you...


End file.
